Everything has changed
by Soleah
Summary: On a cab ride home Sherlock thinks about his relationship with his doctor. What will he do when he realizes that he can't shut his feelings away forever? Johnlock, Post-Reichenbach, really sad


_A/N: I wrote this fic for the first „Let's write Sherlock!" challenge. It is my first fanfic so I am bit nervous and I hope it is good. English is not my first language and I don't have a beta so if you find an error, please tell me and I fix it :)_

_Oh and I would really like to read some reviews :)_

_Warnings: mayor character death, depression, mentioning of slash_

_Disclaimer: I don't own anything. The BBC series Sherlock belongs to the BBC and Moffat and Gatiss._

This time it had been really close, too close for Sherlock Holmes liking. It wasn't like he didn't expected things to go wrong sometimes, he even enjoyed a bit of a surprise, when it came to his cases, but this one was different. There were so many things he just didn't see because of the panic he went in when he saw John in this cellar on that chair, bloodied and dirty and clearly too near to death for Sherlocks liking. In fact his whole mind had gone blank in that moment and if Lestrade hadn't found them just minutes later, he couldn't even think about that. He never panicked, this wasn't right...

With a deep sigh Sherlock looked to his right, where beside him his blogger was sitting. They were on the cab ride home from this drug dealer case, which Sherlock had solved in seconds, after John was safe. Exactly this was the problem. He had only been able to solve it AFTER John was safe... after...

Of course Sherlock Holmes had discovered that he had certain feelings for the doctor before, but honestly he had thought that he had them under control. He would have never guessed that this _feelings_ would have an effect on his work, his precious work.

In his mind palace Sherlock had stored the feelings right next to all the memories that lead him to the conclusion that John was more than a flatmate, in fact more than a friend to him. He had secured them and he had been sure that he would be able to keep them there without him having to worry about them.

The first time he discovered that there was something different about his thoughts toward John was during the time when he was dead. It wasn't so much that he missed John, because he had expected that. He had expected that there would be loneliness and that he would talk to John as if he was there and that he would think about the other, because John was his friend and they shared a flat, so it was to be expected that there would be a certain feeling of loss.

What he didn't expect was the longing. He wanted nothing more than to see John and hear John and be near him. There wasn't a day when he wouldn't watch John through a window or from the other side of the street. Of course he was disguised every time and John never discovered him, but it was nonetheless reckless and stupid. He knew he shouldn't but he did, because he couldn't not watch him. He was there every time John visited his grave and he observed every change in the doctor. That he had lost weight and that the psychosomatic limp was back and also the tremble in his hand. All this time all he wanted to do was run to him and tell him everything. He didn't of course, but the need to do it was there and it got stronger everyday.

Those were the first clues for the consulting detective to deduce his own feelings for the army doctor. He started by looking at all the memories that were in any way relevant and he realized within a day, that he was actually having very strong and very irrational feelings for his blogger. That was the day when he locked them away, in a small place in his mind palace.

Of course he had tried to delete them, but they woudn't go away. He tried every technique he had mastered over the years and none worked. In fact he had the feeling they got stronger the more he tried to remove them. So he stored them away. Gave them a save place and occupied his mind with other thoughts to distract him. It had worked brilliantly like always, until today.

When he realized that they had taken his doctor away from him, kidnapped him and were probably torturing him, every thought that he had stored in this room in his mind palace came rushing out. He couldn't lock the door anymore.

At first he simply was a bit distracted by it, but it didn't actually stopped him from finding their hiding place and rushing in to help John, but when he saw him, sitting there with a gun pointed at his head. The thoughts and feelings got so strong suddenly he couldn't think anymore. All he could do was stare at the scene in front of him.

That was how Lestrade and the police force had found them, just minutes later. They overpowered the drug dealers, all the while Sherlock Holmes was staring at John.

Now they were on their way home and not speaking. They hadn't spoken since they got in the cab. The consulting detective was at a loss for words for the first time in his life and John was just staring ahead.

„I could have lost you", the first words the detective whispered and John turned his head, looked him in the eye, confused and something else Sherlock couldn't quite place.

„I can never lose you... John..."

The cab stopped in front of their flat and the consulting detective payed the cabby, before looking at John again.

„I am in love with you", with that Sherlock Holmes jumped out of the car and rushed up to their flat.

He shouldn't have said it. He really shouldn't. But the words were out now and he couldn't take them back, even if he wanted to. For a second he thought about rushing in his room and locking the door, just so he wouldn't have to face John and his reaction. John who wasn't gay. John who was not on a date with him. John with the many girlfriends, Sherlock despised. _His _John. But the consulting detective knew, he would never be able to face him again if he didn't face him now.

So he went into the flat and took his violin and started playing. He played the piece he had composed during his „death", it was new to John, because he had stored it with all the other memories regarding his feelings, when he discovered that it wasn't just a piece he had composed, it was for John and it described John and all the emotions that came when he thought of the army doctor. Two minutes later he heard John opening the door to the flat and walking in until he was standing only two steps away from Sherlock.

„Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

„What does it matter? It doesn't change a thing, John... Remember? Your are not gay? You are not on a date with me? Of course we will need two bedrooms?"

Now the frustration in the detective showed. He walked past John to curl up on the sofa facing away from the world, that was so cruel.

The doctor simply sat down in his chair, looking at the detective.

„Of course I was denying it! You are married to your work, remember that? I was in love with you from the beginning... Don't tell me the world's only consulting detective didn't see the signs? The dilated pupils? The way I watched you? The way non of my relationships ever worked out?"

At this words Sherlock sat up straight.

„Of course I saw all that, but-"

In this moment Mrs. Hudson opened the door and looked at Sherlock with worry in her eyes.

„Who are you talking to, Sherlock?"

Confusion spread over the detectives face.

„Well, John of course...", he looked back at the arm chair, but it was empty.

„Oh dear... I will fix you a nice cup of tea... this will help...", with that she hurried into the kitchen to put the kettle on.

Sherlock's brows knitted in confusion and frustration. What had happened?

A knocking sound disturbed his thinking process and in the same moment the door opened and Mycroft came in.

He looked in the direction of the kitchen.

„How is he doing, Mrs. Hudson?"

„He talked to him... again..."

With a deep sigh Mycroft sat down in a chair and looked at his brother. He had always been worried about him, but in the last weeks the worry had increased to a level that was uncomfortable to the stoic man.

„Sherlock... you need to stop doing this... you are worrying Mrs. Hudson."

The detective looked at his brother. He could see through his facade easier than normally, which meant something was upsetting the older a lot more than usually. The older Holmes looked tired and sad. Something had happened... some memory was lacking...

In that moment everything came rushing back.

There had been a drug dealer case and John had been kidnapped and Sherlock had been too late. He had lost him, lost his blogger for good. He suddenly remembered the days that followed. How he had double checked and triple checked and searched for any sign that it could have been a set up, like his death. That John wasn't really dead and was hiding somewhere. That his army doctor was save and he just had to find him. When he realized that he was indeed dead, his whole world collapsed. He hadn't eaten in days and he hadn't slept either.

That was when he first saw him. Standing in their kitchen, there had been Dr. John Watson and he had looked at him, sighed and told him to eat. So he had and then he had slept, for days. He didn't want to wake up ever again, because in his dreams John was holding his hand and whispering to him about their future together.

It wasn't until he saw John again, standing at the end of his bed and telling him to get up and get a case, that he had.

From that moment on he had been back at working on cases, but he was not the same as before. Of course he still was able to deduce everything and he still solved every case Lestrade gave him, but the fun he always had was gone. The joy of solving a puzzle and the excitement of the adventure, all that was gone. He was solving the cases, but he wasn't bouncing with energy like he usually did. When he solved a case all he felt was the loss and he felt it so much more in this moments that it literally hurt.

That was the reason why he told Lestrade that he would not help him anymore. Of course he didn't tell him the real reason, that he couldn't take it anymore. He made something up about other things that were more important than his _little_ cases.

So instead of solving crime, he sat at home where he would imagine John speaking to him or just sitting in his chair writing his blog. There were hundreds of conversations he had with the doctor, about his feelings or about a case or about the weather, but every time when the conversation ended Sherlock remembered and he nearly couldn't take it.

Everything hurt, his body, his mind and his heart the most.

Mrs. Hudson had discovered what he was doing two weeks ago. At first she simply reminded him of the death of John Watson. Then she told him about this therapist she had phoned and what he had suggested. It seemed that she finally was at a loss for what to do and therefore had called his brother.

Sherlock sighed and covered his face with his hands. There was nothing he could do now about it and he was not even in the mood to fight with his brother. He did not want to talk about John either. In fact all he wanted to do was curl up on his sofa and sleep. He was tired, so tired.

Mycroft observed the change in his brothers face closely. It was not good that he forgot about the death of his best friend. There was only one way to handle this. He had to remind him, that there were more important things than friendship.

„I told you brother that caring is not an advantage, it still isn't. There are other things, more important things, you should occupy your mind with, instead of your dead friend... Nothing has changed, Sherlock."

This words made the younger Holmes look up, right in the eyes of his brother.

Mycroft saw the raw emotions that ran through his brother. All the pain and the weariness and the loss and the love, that had never been there before.

„Except you are wrong. Everything has changed."


End file.
